


convalescence

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: Martin refuses to take a day or two off when he falls ill,so.Well.Tim to the rescue.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	convalescence

“You should go home.”

“It’s just a little cold.”

“You should still go home.” 

Maybe it _was_ just a little cold, but Tim still reached to rest the back of his hand against Martin’s forehead, feeling for any hint of fever there. It wasn’t that he didn’t _trust_ him to say if he was feeling worse, but, well, _yeah,_ he didn’t trust him to say if he was feeling worse.

“I don’t have a _fever,”_ Martin complained, although he still smiled. It was a weary thing, worn down by the past few days of a bad cold that was just starting to clear up, but still there; then, Martin reached up to pull Tim’s hand away from beneath his bangs, curling too far over his eyebrows these days, and tangled their fingers together instead. “You don’t have to worry.”

“‘You don’t have to worry,’ he says.” Tim rolled his eyes, catching Martin’s fingers in a quick, reassuring squeeze. “As if it’s ever been that easy.”

Martin hummed. “Oh… I know.” He laughed under his breath, and Tim wanted to melt a little further into his space, crowd into him and take all this misery away from him. Not that he wanted to get sick himself, but he had a strong immune system. And, hey, if it turned out he didn’t, Tim didn’t mind taking a few days off to let himself recover, unlike Martin here.

“If I told you not to worry about any of us, and that’s, like, Rosie and Diana and literally _anyone_ upstairs, too,” he said, “you’d fail before I could blink. And you’re not even dating them. I’m your _partner._ I get to worry, Martin, it’s my job.”

“I _know,”_ Martin repeated, still laughing. But then he coughed, quickly turning his head to bury his face into the crook of his arm, and Tim held onto his hand a little tighter. That sounded so bad. It had sounded bad the past few days. Maybe it was a marked improvement over yesterday, or the first day, but it still sounded painful.

“Christ, Martin. I’ll make more tea.”

Martin pulled away, hand slipping away from Tim’s to wave dismissively like he was saying he _didn’t_ need more tea, but Tim was on tea duty right now and his opinion reigned supreme on the matter. Resident tea-preparer got sick? Someone else had to step in. Another cup with honey and he was _pretty_ sure Martin wasn’t going to find it in himself to complain.

He didn’t complain about much of anything, actually, about being sick. Oh, he _looked_ miserable enough, red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose and that scratchy throat and cough. He looked like shit, actually. Tim had told him as much. Hell, even _Jon_ had mentioned it, giving him leave to go home if necessary. But Martin had soldiered on, with paracetamol and hand sanitizer at the ready, and the worst of it seemed to have peaked a couple days ago. Tim had had to make sure he’d gotten home alright, that night.

Martin continued to hack up his lungs in a dry, heaving way that made Tim’s chest ache, too, and had to remind himself again that, _yes,_ Martin _was_ better than he had been a few days ago. Absolutely. It really wasn’t false comforts, it was actually true.

He sat the kettle back on its base, all anxious again as he turned back to Martin. Had to wait on the tea to steep, anyway. “Slow breaths.” He rubbed at his back. “In through your nose.”

“I know.” Martin smiled weakly, even more tired. The exhaustion was creeping into his eyes again. Tim wondered if he had had flu and they hadn’t wanted to accept that. Bit late now. “Really, Tim, I _am_ feeling better.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. _Or_ look like it.”

“I’m just… I’m just getting a bit tired, again.”

“Well, drink your tea and then go lie down. At least take a nap if you won’t go home. Which you should,” he added, again.

“Tim…”

“Anddddd I know you won’t. I know. Because you’re so… selfless and stubborn and loyal in the best ways.”

“Aww.”

“Don’t _aww_ me,” he retorted, and yeah, he did stick his tongue out. “No _aww_ s. It’s just a _job,_ Martin. It’s just the archives. Got enough weird things here _without_ your snot on files.”

“Hey,” Martin protested, with a feeble grin, “I have _not_ snotted on the files. I have tissues. So… so many tissues.” 

_“Mountains_ of tissues.”

“Mountains,” Martin agreed.

“I _do_ find the red nose pretty adorable, I gotta say. In a ‘I wish you weren’t suffering’ kind of way.” Martin wheezed another laugh, and Tim quirked an equally small, anxious smile as he spooned honey into the tea. “Here.” He held the mug out to him. “It’s not that hot, so don’t let it cool off too much.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Now will you _please_ go take a nap?” he prompted. No, he wasn’t going to rest until Martin did. “Before you get yourself really sick again.”

“Yes… yes,” Martin repeated, nodding jerkily. “I promise, I’m going. I’ll take this and go, for a bit.” He carefully sipped at the tea, and sighed a breath after an apparently suitable mouthful. “That’s lovely,” he murmured, voice growing honey-warm with the never fail comfort that was _tea._ “You’re lovely.”

“Cheers.” Tim smiled, slightly less forlorn. Martin’s eyelids were already drooping as he breathed in the meagre steam, and Tim leaned over to press a kiss to his hair. “Now go rest.”

“I’m going,” he repeated.

“Need me to tuck you in?”

The surface of the tea rippled with Martin’s puff of laughter. His fingers tightened around the mug, lethargic and slow and endlessly _comfortable_ in Tim’s presence in the break room, even with this cold-flu still hanging on. Tim wanted to kiss him again, but Martin had already leaned away, his knee-jerk reaction to avoiding Tim getting sick as well.

Maybe Tim _was_ shit at being sick, but he’d take the risk if Martin let him. He wouldn’t push it, though.

“No. Thank you,” Martin said. “Maybe later,” he joked.

“Sure thing.” Tim wasn’t joking. “Enjoy your nap.”

“I’ll try.”

Martin shuffled away, holding the old, chipped mug of tea like it was a security blanket. Still sluggish and slow on his feet, but, yeah, Tim knew he was getting better. He just _worried._ Endlessly worried. He watched him go, and decided he’d head out at lunch to search out some throat lozenges and chicken noodle soup.

He stood by his declaration: it _was_ his job to fuss over him, and fuss over him he was going to continue to do. If he went a little overboard, well. Martin deserved to be taken care of, and Tim was going to make sure to do just that.

**Author's Note:**

> I was pining for some soft TimMartin 🥺 Martin leaning into Tim's weight because he's still a little miserable.... Tim stroking his hair.... they're so sweet together... I love them...


End file.
